


Shaken

by LadyLuckDoubt



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Phoenix Wright Kink Meme, rarepair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-14
Updated: 2011-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-16 23:22:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLuckDoubt/pseuds/LadyLuckDoubt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><i>Manfred x Kristoph. Bonus points if von Karma sees the devil hand and is scared stiff.</i></p><p>was what someone back in Part Ten of the Phoenix Wright Kink Meme asked for. So yeah, I went there.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Shaken

**Author's Note:**

> _Manfred x Kristoph. Bonus points if von Karma sees the devil hand and is scared stiff._
> 
> was what someone back in Part Ten of the Phoenix Wright Kink Meme asked for. So yeah, I went there.

In this industry, networking was everything. Well, everything that solid evidence wasn't, Kristoph Gavin believed; what was a lawyer who wasn't smooth and charismatic and convincing?

He liked the thrill of the chase, the seductive show he put on for the court. He liked coolly taunting the other side; Payne was fun because he was  _easy_ , Edgeworth looked all too  _cute_  when flustered. The reaction he got from the observers, his  _audience_ \-- was delightful. He was the golden boy-- everyone loved him, even when they didn't love who he was defending. 

It always amused Kristoph, the way he could play the part of an extrovert, a  _people person_  and get away with it. It was simple for him; his thoughts turned to his precocious, cocky little brother-- who'd just become a prosecutor himself-- and wondered  _What Would Klavier Do?_  Exude natural confidence. Almost  _flirt_  with the courtroom. Kristoph found it all a bit ridiculous sometimes, and lacked Klavier's flair for the melodramatic, but he would have been lying to himself to say that watching Klavier hadn't been an inspiration of sorts. Klavier just did things  _loudly_ , needing to draw attention to himself. 

Kristoph had the art of understatement; he managed to command the courtroom's direction with detachment. 

  
And then, one fateful and horrible morning, he encountered the King of Prosectors himself, Manfred von Karma. 

 

 

  
Initially he'd looked at him with fascination -- _Don't have a heart attack, old man; you've got a winning streak but you haven't dealt with_ me _yet_ \-- noting the man's ostentatious, almost old-world dress sense, and the grimace on his face.

 _Fear_.

 

People often flew into rage when they were afraid, when they felt out of control and thrown at the mercy of other people or chaos theory or some force controlling their reality which wasn't  _them_. This was one reason Kristoph liked stillness. Stillness wasn't lashing out, it wasn't giving any indication of fear.

He was  
Perfectly.  
Utterly.  
In. Control.

He smiled as the trial began, offering a cool, amused look at Manfred von Karma. He knew the old man was arrogant and domineering; he'd seen transcripts and videos. It was just that  _his_  style was different, his confidence wasn't like Edgeworth's, which crackled and hissed the moment even the slightest contradiction rose to the surface from one of his prized witnesses.

He was going to beat von Karma easily.

  
He maintained this mindset for maybe ten minutes after the trial had started. When Manfred made a snide remark, it was deliberate and deep-cutting. When the man roared  _Objection!_ , the whole courtroom shook, and his client shuddered next to him, sobbing. Kristoph himself couldn't remain unaffected; he flicked his hair haughtily, adjusted his glasses, and when he felt sweat appearing on his face, he raised a palm to it. All things which others wouldn't see as particularly stressed gestures, but which he knew were. He couldn't get a cutting remark in edgewise. His coolness looked like bored, indifferent laziness or inefficiency. Manfred cut him off and down at every point, Manfred whipped everything into shape, Manfred held the attention-- and the tension-- of the court room within those first few moments; the longer this went on, all Kristoph could do was flounder, humiliated and all too aware of what had happened to him, yet strangely unaware of _how._  

His skin crawled at the thought that he'd been reduced to this.

 

He felt sick at his growing fascination with von Karma; the man's sheer  _power_  was intoxicating. Manfred was one of the few people who honestly didn't give a  _fuck_ , he was the true rockstar boyfriend his brother wanted to be, walking all over people without seeing them, getting what he wanted from people and then tossing their corpses aside.

Figuratively speaking, of course.

Kristoph could see it now and his own objections started growing less frequent and less urgent; suddenly his voice seemed weak and childish and nasal compared to that of his opponent, this  _god_ , this powerhouse of prosecuting awesome. 

It took less than two hours, even though it had felt like so many more, for the trial to end. He'd lost. He'd failed. His client was probably going to contest the charges, and he'd probably ask someone else to take care of him then. 

He was grateful he'd not implemented a no-win-no-fee policy at his office. Even though it was really, devastatingly about much more than the money.

  
But a part of him couldn't care as much as he knew he should have. He watched Manfred von Karma stride out, magnificent and commanding and brilliant and felt something within him stir. 

 _Was this love_? People spoke of it, but Kristoph didn't know what they meant. There wasn't anything  _sexual_  there, no, sex was a basic, animal, hormonal need, one which he'd been all but able to do himself away with when he as younger. If he were going to succeed in life, he need not be distracted, was what he told himself. It was tasteless and trashy the way Klavier threw himself about, the way the kid would be anyone's for the night all for the price of a record deal or a bit of flattery; it disgusted him. Moreso that the boy was able to push through law school and graduate at such a tender age. 

Everyone connected love and sex, but Kristoph never understood it. His own urges weren't about  _love_ , they'd been about release. Love was something purer than a tightness around your dick and your head spinning and a couple of fingers in your ass and the fantasy of absolute power, of being able to do anything you wanted to a willing body being offered in front of you. That was no more love than eating a piece of meat was.

Love was admiration, concern for, pleasure with, fascination with-- someone. He'd felt it for his parents, whether they warranted it or not, it was an automatic knee jerk emotion. He certainly felt it for Klavier-- when he wasn't repulsed by his tawdry behaviour and anyone-anywhere standards, he felt enormously protective of him.

He'd felt a glow of admiration and pride and interest in the words of a few professors at university, and had spent hours poring over their theses and literature. That was a kind of love, that was appreciating someone for their mind and their contribution to the world, not just their body and what they could provide in the heat of a moment. 

 

  
As he watched Manfred stride away, an ornate, old-fashioned-looking walking stick in his hand, he felt certain that he felt this alien feeling for the man. He was entranced. He wanted to see more of him. It was both terrifying and stunning how quickly  _he'd_  been put in his place, and Manfred had walked out of the courtroom, truly unaffected and blase about the whole thing.

Like Kristoph didn't even exist in his eyes. 

 

 

Attention could be nice. People craved it. But slipping under the radar like that, being so steadfastly ignore by such a creature--  _that_ , for some disgustingly wrong reason-- sent a shiver of electricity through Kristoph. 

He wasn't sure if he wanted to  _be_  that arrogance and ability to command the world around him and just ignore others at will, or if he wanted to be ignored and walked over some more. And that disgusted and annoyed him.

 

But he needed to see him. He needed to satisfy that curiousity lest it haunt him, morphing into an unholy obsession.

 

He'd heard the man was a workaholic, and he'd dismissed his own client somewhat callously, advising him that it was a Friday night and he needed a drink and would get in touch on Monday morning; most unprofessional of him, really.

He assumed the client would think it a dint in his armor, a bruise to his ego-- but it wasn't quite about that at all. It was about being mesmerised and curious, wanting to touch the pulse of the magic and power which had bested him. Of course the client didn't need to know that.

 

  
He walked into the building, casually, like he was on any other kind of visit. Smiled at the police, wandering through to the prosecutors' division, up the stairs towards what  _had_  to be Edgeworth's office-- with the door left slightly ajar. He blinked in a combination of amusement and horror; it was like the man's suit had exploded all over the room, which was filled with flowers, as though someone had died. 

There was the hum of a vacuum cleaner from somewhere inside, and his moment's nosy, curious glance at the room was broken by an angry Gumshoe, wearing a shoulder-strap vacuum and fussing about the floor near the desk with it.

"Why're you hanging around here, pal?" he asked aggressively. "This is Mister Edgeworth's private office." 

Kristoph blinked and opened his mouth like a goldfish, not even having thought to ask why Gumshoe was  _cleaning_  the prosecutor's office like some kind of  _maid_. "I'm looking for Manfred von Karma's office," he said crisply. 

Gumshoe didn't say anything immediately, but didn't protest either. "Next door," he said. "I think he's in right now."

 

Networking, that's all it was. Gaining a few legal contacts; he was only new at the game, he needed to get his foot in the door somewhere. All he was going to do was offer Manfred a good natured shake-of-the-hand, probably get a pat on the back from the seasoned veteran and a "better luck next time, kid" statement.

Not that he could imagine Manfred saying something so jovial. That would have been Damon Gant if he'd been a prosecutor. 

He wondered just  _how_  Manfred would react towards him when he saw him, and suddenly his mind raced with the thought of what a terrible idea coming here had been. But he couldn't back out now; Gumshoe had seen him and it would look beyond suspicious if something went wrong for the DPP down the track.

He'd come here to see Manfred, he  _had_  to see Manfred.

  
He knocked on the door gingerly, only to feel it pulled from beneath him only a moment later. Surprised, wondering if the man was  _psychic_  now, he saw Miles Edgeworth standing there, a miniature version of the man himself. They had the same style clothing, though in different colours, and their movements, sharp, deliberate-- were similar, too. It was close to nerve-wracking... but for the fact that Kristoph knew perfectly well why Miles idolised this man so much.

He gave the younger man a nod and a hello. "I'm here to see Manfred von Karma," he said. No formal title, even though his heart raced at his arrogance and stupidity. 

"He's over  _there_ ," Miles noted. There was something snide in his voice, a mean knowingness. "Have fun today?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You lasted... ninety minutes, maybe?"

"Miles! That's no way to talk to a visitor." He heard Manfred's irritation from the other end of the room, and watched as the prosecutor stood to greet him. "Even if it's true," he said when he'd walked to the door. 

Kristoph was silent. The fact that he talked to his own protege like this was terrifying. Once again, a sick feeling came over him. He shouldn't have turned up.

Miles sniffed. 

"Go back to your office and have a think about your insolence," Manfred told him in monotone. "I did not teach you to behave like that."

Kristoph was surprised when Miles opened the door, and looking at neither of them, walked out before closing it.

 _Absolute power._ He felt his skin tingle under his suit.

Pretending to ignore what had just happened, he stood to attention and attempted a half-smile. "Hello, Prosecutor von Karma," he said evenly.

 

von Karma didn't speak immediately. Slowly, a smirk appeared on his face, and his eyes glistened intelligently as though he were assessing the situation and the young man who'd appeared at his door. There was a look of recognition on his face, combined with surprise-- just  _why_  had he stopped by?

"Kristoph Gavin," he said slowly. "The defense attorney from today's trial." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes," Kristoph mumbled, unable to meet his eyes. A terror had overtaken him, and once again, he regretted his decision to turn up here.

"And you wish to see me because...?" The way he asked made him sound like he wasn't used to such visits. It wasn't difficult for Kristoph to understand  _why_ : von Karma's imposing presence was unnerving. He wondered if the man knew just  _how_  intimidating it was, that any defense who went up against him was probably just relieved to be out of the courtroom and  _away_  from him once the final blow from the gavel had been sounded.

But he was different somehow. Like a masochistic, suicidal moth towards the vibrant blue light which has destroyed others before him; he'd been driven towards the prosecutor.

And now he didn't know what to say or do.

"I just wanted to congratulate you on a job well done."

Manfred von Karma laughed to himself. There wasn't anything particularly  _funny_  about what had been said, it was mere amusement at how tense the situation was. At Kristoph's stupidity for arriving like this. 

"Someone like you does not need to offer me such praise," he sniffed. "I  _know_  I performed reasonably in court today. I won the trial. You  _lost_." He paused, savouring his next comment. "Tell me, Gavin, what did your client have to say about the situation?"

There was a lump in Kristoph's throat and for a moment, he felt oxygen-starved. He couldn't reply immediately, didn't know what to say. The client had been dismissed easily; Kristoph had been more concerned, at that moment, about seeing Manfred. 

  
"He appeared to be more in shock about the outcome as opposed to anything else," he admitted. "I felt he should have some time to deal with the situation while I prepared things for his appeal."

"How compassionate of you," von Karma said. "I daresay, that's one thing I enjoy about my position here: Once I've put someone where they belong, I need not think about them or deal with them again." He narrowed his eyes and looked at Kristoph directly. "I tend to think that way about cocky, useless greenhorns who come up against me, too."

"I'm not..." Kristoph started to protest.

"I'm not interested, Gavin. I've seen people like you before, all swagger and affected ennui, like you're somehow dispassionate and removed from the process, when really, you're just terrified little boys desperate to make names for yourselves lest you leave the world with absolutely no legacy."

Kristoph blinked. 

"...And all you have to your name is that you went up against one of the greatest legal minds of your time--  _me_." He chuckled. "How does that make you feel? Useless? Hopeless?" He spoke so easily.

" _Frightened_?"

Kristoph Gavin was not like the others. He wasn't scared-- well, he  _was_ , but not like  _that_. Not too scared or to stupid to step towards the older man, brush his fringe away from his eyes and calmly state, "I'm not going anywhere."

"Oh, but you will," Manfred said with a smirk. "Eventually the pain of loss will eat at you and you will realise your life as a failure. And that framed law degree which you display so proudly will be moved from your office once you've run out of money and decide to do something else with your time. Perhaps you'll become a teacher if you still have grandiose delusions about helping people and saving the world. If you're bitter, you'll probably enter corrective services. If your parents have plenty of money, politics."

"I have no plans to do any of those things," Kristoph stated. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware that his voice was rising and he hated himself for it. He was spiralling out of control, as he had in court: and he was determined to not let it show behind closed doors, either.

He decided to throw something else at von Karma. "You've worked extensively overseas, have you not?" he asked.

"Don't you remember  _anything_  you read in your fancy American law school?"

"I was about to ask if you were aware of my  _brother_ ," Kristoph said coldly. He was scared-- but he also wasn't backing down. Referring to Klavier was a knee-jerk reaction, a weakness he suddenly wished he hadn't succumbed to.

"My  _daughter_  is Franziska von Karma," Manfred said, flourishing a hand theatrically.

"I know who she is."

"And my protege is none other than the department's very own Miles Edgeworth."

"I've bested Edgeworth." The glare in his eye was a furious, vivid blue. He wasn't going down without a fight. And unlike in the courtroom, he didn't feel like he'd lost just yet. 

"That was a mere technicality," von Karma said calmly. "And anyway, you didn't arrive here to discuss every one  _else_ , did you?"

Kristoph didn't say anything. He didn't like the way Manfred had pulled things out from beneath him, once again taking control of the situation, manipulating it to his will.  _Dominating_  it. 

This was  _his_  visit, his friendly gesture. Sort of. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and waited for the older man to say something.

"I want to know what really brought you here, Mr. Gavin," he said smoothly. "I want to know what exactly it  _is_  that you want from me."

Kristoph wasn't sure what to say. He wanted  _something_ , but the question of  _what_  hadn't quite formed in his mind. Or maybe it had, and it was too abstract and intangible to put into words. 

Or maybe its answer was too embarrassing to admit to.

He expected, and longed for Manfred to dismiss him, to regard his appearance in his office as a nuisance and a waste of time. But he was surprised when the older man gestured at him with a crooked finger. Trying to hide the way his adam's apple jolted, Kristoph walked towards him to the back of the office.

"This office represents my reign over the courts for the past forty-five years," he said. Kristoph's eyes followed his, and he saw the cabinet full of trophies and certificates and awards; the prosecutor had amassed so many of them that the cabinet appeared to strain under their weight.

"It  _is_  quite an achievement," he said nervously.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and terror run through him. There was something about the man, this close up, which seemed remarkably... not quite right. Again, Kristoph couldn't put into words  _what_  was wrong, though he could recognise that something was. The air around him was suffocating and heavy and he thought once again about how much he just wanted to leave.

"You don't need to tell me that," Manfred growled. "You, Gavin-- a nobody, trying to pretend that you can even  _appreciate_  what I have achieved." His hand remained on his shoulder. "You have no idea."

"I'm-- humbled by your company, sir."

Manfred turned to him and smirked. "Oh?" he asked. "You're now deciding to  _flatter_  me." He chuckled to himself, a hollow, nasty sort of laugh. "What will it be  _next_ , Mr. Gavin? 'Can I see you at work? Can I take you out for a drink?'" He narrowed his eyes and smiled with the sort of enthusiasm that a snake has before it's about to strike. "'Can I shine your shoes?'"

"I assure you I did not come here to ask such a thing." He felt hot. Raising a hand to the back of his neck and running a fingertip along the edge of his collar, Kristoph longed to unbutton the top of his shirt, to feel a cool breeze against his skin, something to offset Manfred's heated mockery.

"Something wrong?" Manfred asked. "I saw the way your eyes shifted."

Kristoph was learning. It didn't matter what Manfred saw or didn't, it was what he  _said_  he saw, and it was  _his_  word against anyone else's. 

He longed to have that power himself, and briefly wondered how long it would take, how many wins, before he attained it.

Kristoph longed to walk away. To deny what he was being accused of, what had never actually happened. 

And then he realised it. He was playing into Manfred's hands if he showed fear. Denial was indicating some level of fear. Denial was stress and flustered explanations. 

And Manfred  _ruled_  with fear; it was the way he'd managed to keep that perfect winning record and the court under his fist. 

And here he had been, determined to get the better of him.

"Does it bother you?" Kristoph asked coolly. In the back of his throat was a suppressed laugh, and his mind was grinning, Cheshire Cat-like.  _Let's see how he reacts to_ this. 

Manfred couldn't hide the look of shock that crossed his face for a split second. "It was just a  _surprise_ , that was all," he said smoothly.

Kristoph raised his eyebrows and smiled demurely. He had him  _now_. Even if this battle of wills was removed from the public arena, he was damn well going to  _win_. And that would shake Manfred von Karma. Already, he was looking forward to the next time he would be facing off against him in court.

"Really?" Kristoph asked. "Maybe you get surprised too easily."

"Now now..." Manfred shook his finger aggravatingly, like Kristoph was a small child. "No need to get arrogant."

"Maybe I have reason to be." His voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "Maybe there's a  _lot_  you're not aware of yet, von Karma." Again, no formal title, and he watched the prosecutor cringe.

And then felt himself wrenched against the older man's body. Suddenly the air around him had grown that much more stifling. 

"You talk the talk, Gavin," he said, no longer jovial and taunting but deathly serious. "But what do you make of the reality, boy?"

Kristoph couldn't have replied, even if he wanted to, even if he could have thought of a response. The prosecutor's lips pressed urgently, silently against his own were just as unexpected as his touch only moments before.

If he'd been asked, Kristoph would have admitted that the sensation wasn't at all unpleasant. The initial contact caused him to jerk backwards, trying to move away-- away from  _what_ , he wasn't entirely sure.

 _So this is how he wants to play it_.

He felt himself pushed into the wall behind him, Manfred's weight holding him there as he tried to struggle. It was the sheer unexpectedness of the movement which threw him by surprise; Manfred von Karma, one of the greatest prosecutors in all history, wasn't meant to be behaving like this. It seemed so  _lewd_ , so bizarrely  _not him_. Yet... two thoughts consumed him. The first being something along the lines of "this isn't so bad," and the second being "who would believe me if I mentioned this?" Forty-odd years and there wasn't a single scandal about the man; he wasn't known for being lecherous, a booze hound, or corrupt. He was just... perfect at what he did. Brutal and intimidating maybe, but a genius. 

And now Kristoph had to contrast that with the reality, his body practically squeezing the air out of him, the ferocious and unrelenting mouth against his own. He could feel Manfred's hands in his hair, teasing out the perfectly-coiffed drill he'd spent an hour arranging that morning, and a hand insistently creeping around between his back and the wall, thick fingers pulling his shirt from his pants.

He'd never done anything like this before. Not this unexpected, not in such a public place, and certainly not where  _he_  was the one being controlled.

There had been a few other times-- but they'd been within the safety of his own home, and he'd at  _least_  anticipated them. Then there was the issue of control. Kristoph was  _always_  the one in control of things.

This was twice today that Manfred von Karma had thrown him out of his comfort zone. And he wasn't going to be beaten again. 

He kissed back every bit as aggressively as von Karma, wondering if the other man was used to this sort of situation. He wondered if Manfred had tried it before, wondered what the reaction was. Probably not _this_  reaction, he thought to himself as his tongue brushed against the other man's and he shifted a hand out to attempt mirroring the same movements as the prosecutor. 

Manfred was wearing a belt, however, and frustratingly, he couldn't manage to loosen his clothing whatsoever. He felt Manfred pull away from him, and a low chuckle as the kiss was broken while he gasped for air.

"I  _see_ ," he murmured in a low, surprised sort of growl. "I can make that easier for you if you like."

Kristoph said nothing. It had become a battle of wills, who was going to lose their nerve-- or their dignity-- first. He couldn't imagine Manfred going much further; no one said anything about Manfred and sex  _ever_ \-- certainly, he had two daughters overseas and a late wife, but the idea that he enjoyed being intimate with other men-- and in his own  _office_  somehow seemed crude and ridiculous. Manfred was so consumed with his work, with the law, with justice-- it was like he was asexual. 

 _Much like myself_ , Kristoph thought.

 

He didn't need to reply for Manfred to start unbuckling his belt, to smile knowingly, and almost brazenly move Kristoph's hand to his crotch. He appeared to have no embarrassment, no shame-- somehow this just increased Kristoph's resolve to not falter or show any signs of stress or discomfort. 

Once again, he wondered just how far the prosecutor would take it. The thought of blackmail slipped through his mind, but he couldn't entirely remove the idea that whatever happened was something special and unseen or done by anyone else. It was a privilege, of sorts, to be in this scenario.

He had nothing to do but to run his hand over the man's erection. His touch was tentative and he worried he was showing apprehension. Manfred smiled warmly, as though he'd figured something out.

"First time?" he asked with a demonic grin.

"Under these circumstances, yes." Kristoph didn't look him in the eye. He'd grown more confident with that comment, confident because to back down now was to admit defeat and to walk away-- and he didn't  _do_  things like that. Who cared if he had to jerk off a respected prosecutor in order to be seen as a force to be reckoned with? It was a price he was willing to pay in order to save face.

He watched Manfred's face as his eyes closed and his hips thrust forward, urging to be touched. He wondered who he was thinking about-- was it  _him_? Was it someone  _else_? Was he still grieving inside his head for the dead wife or was there someone  _else_  in his mind? Kristoph didn't know, and didn't care. It was probably so long for the old man that he wouldn't last long-- with that thought in his mind, he shoved his hand roughly down the silken underpants covering Manfred, and worked his hand over his stiffened cock.

It was strange how natural it felt. All the other times there'd been some hesitation, albeit the situation  _there_  had been a trifle more unusual-- but the instinct, the ability to do this was like the words of some long-forgotten song in his mind; remember a line and the whole lot would come flooding back. 

Manfred groaned. 

While Kristoph never considered himself an overtly sexual person, he enjoyed watching what other people did in the throes of passion. It was one of the few times they were unguarded, when they were  _free_ , when the social constraints and behavioural expectations imposed on them dropped away and they were raw, real and completely vulnerable. Even if they didn't necessarily see it that way.

It only took a few strokes for him to feel the sticky wetness of precum on his fingertips and to hear Manfred's breath racing out of him in little bursts, jagged and aching and hungry. His hands had somehow loosened Kristoph's pants enough to drop them towards his knees, and the younger man gasped loudly when he felt pressure over his asshole. 

He hissed loudly, as Manfred, panting, suddenly jerked away. "Stop," he gasped. 

"Why?" At this point, he was well aware that his own voice was disorganised and frantic; it was funny how his body seemed to react so instantaneously while his mind sat in the corner, analysing and watching and trying to figure out the next move. 

Manfred's response was chillingly back-to-normal as he twisted the body of the younger man around, and he pushed him towards the wall again. The office had been painted recently, Kristoph deduced; he could still smell the chemical, powdery scent of paint when his face was pushed into the plaster.

And then a realisation of what was happening rushed over him. He wouldn't show fear. But now Manfred was correct in his earlier assumption; he  _hadn't_  done this before and it wasn't just the fact that he was in a relatively public place, in someone's office, or being engaged in sexual activity while standing. 

He felt Manfred's lips on the back of his neck, through strands of hair, now loosened and falling to his shoulders.  _That_  bothered him, the fact that one way or another, he'd likely be leaving the office dishevelled. He exhaled sharply, feeling the prosecutor's hands at his sides, holding him in place.

He could run away now if he wanted to. But that would be letting him win. And he wasn't going to do that; he would walk out maybe a little bit ruffled, with a knowing, calm smile on his face, the smile of a fortune teller, not the look of someone who'd been unexpectedly fucked-- for a second time in one day by the same person.

He still had some pride, he mused, as he pulled the older man's hand towards his semihard erection suggestively.

He was surprised when Manfred stroked him, surprised at himself for moving his hips in time with the movement, surprised that he was enjoying himself enough to make a noise. Unlike Manfred's low murmurs, his vocalisation was higher, almost a mewl. But a part of him doubted Manfred cared any more. To hell with dignity now-- he was enjoying himself, he hadn't backed down; that was what mattered. 

He realised moments later  _why_  the prosecutor had acquiesced-- his own juices were on Manfred's fingers, and they were shifting backwards, upwards, a makeshift lubricant in an ad hoc situation.

He closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip when he felt the first finger push inside him. His own experiences taught him that being on the receiving end could be painful; he'd witnessed the reaction to know that it  _hurt_. Manfred's apparent tenderness-- and possibly, experience-- was almost touching; he didn't seem to be forcing anything, and allowed for time and movement for Kristoph to adapt to one finger... then two... then... 

He gasped again as both fingers were suddenly gone and the soft, moist head of Manfred's cock slid over him. Bracing himself, he pushed against the wall, arms above him, pushing backwards and forwards as the older man deepened his thrusts. A stabbing pain shot through him initially, but somewhere his resolve screamed at him, cursed him, to keep going, to demonstrate that he wasn't to be taken lightly and that he wasn't scared of Manfred von Karma. 

He wondered if they were both still going because neither of them had given in. He could have convinced himself of that had Manfred not been moaning to himself as he drew back slightly, ready to push back into him, harder and faster this time. 

He could feel himself soaked with sweat, feel his swollen, tender bottom lip aching, and the the rush of ecstasy as somehow the following thrust managed to make it all sublimely improve. Every part of him was alive and protesting yet wanting more.

Had his mind been working at that moment, he would have hated himself for it. But he couldn't; the fact that it felt  _good_  was unexpectedly wonderful. 

He heard some noise in the back of his throat-- animalistic and powerful, escape. This wasn't him at all. The only person who'd seen him like this was Manfred von Karma now. And he rocked himself, backwards, forwards, his hipbones pressing uncomfortably into the wall in front of him. Tomorrow morning was Saturday. He'd be bruised, but he could sleep in.

Manfred groaned and pushed himself into the defense attorney again, pulling back, relishing the way he twitched and shuddered beneath him. He wondered if Kristoph Gavin  _normally_  did this: probably not, he deduced; the man always came across as so...  _tidy_. So conservative and organised and unshakeable-- yet here he was, and it had taken such little effort for him to have arrived at that point. 

He ran a hand through the long blonde hair which he'd managed to untangle-- Gavin wouldn't agree with him at all, but he looked beautiful like this, sullied and frantic and... real. As far from the uptight, cool man who strode into court with his eggshell blue suit and painfully sculpted hair as possible; sweating and moaning, despite still clinging to a sense of control, despite the fact that he looked like he didn't  _want_ to be in this situation at all.

He wondered what was making him continue, and all he could assume it was was... pride. Pure and simple. He was arrogant and still new enough to the game to have neither settled, gotten bored of it or managed to assert his power. He wondered how long he'd last in the game.

Thrusting into him again, he felt a twitch, a constriction against his cock, and Kristoph's head jerk back, a deep, wild howl from him. He wanted to say something, but, lost himself, couldn't think of anything; he knew he was close to the edge himself, and he drew back again, studying the man before him, readying himself for a final blow...

He looked stunning there, pressed against the wall, pushing himself back against him, his hands splayed out on the plaster he'd been pushed against, sweating and dishevelled and twitching and... 

It was then that he noticed it, and he withdrew sharply, gasping, his eyes fixated on it, horrified.

He stepped back, hastily pulling up his pants, rebuckling his belt, staring at the other man who was still standing there, still shuddering, and who turned around to face him a moment later.

"What?" he snapped through a tangle of blonde hair.

His darkened eyes fixated on Kristoph's left hand. "Get out of here," he snarled.

  
Frustrated and furious, and not yet understanding  _why_ , Kristoph slowly hitched his pants up, his eyes focussed on Manfred's. What the  _hell_  had just happened? Was this some bizarre power game the prosecutor was playing?

"What?" he asked. He took a step towards Manfred, and watched carefully as he readjusted himself. 

"Get  _out_." 

His hands still felt sticky, and the way Manfred had spoken left no question about the fact that he wanted him to leave. But he sounded...  _scared_.  _This_  man. The man who'd pretty much taunted and toyed with him as though he was some juvenile greenhorn he could just  _play_  with was now wide-eyed with fear.

"What's wrong?" he asked. He was frustrated, and this encounter only made him hate von Karma, had pushed his resolve to topple the other man in court one day. 

"Leave," von Karma snarled. " _Now_."

Kristoph blinked. He didn't like being screamed at at  _all_ , but close range like this was simply unacceptable. 

Raising a hand, eyes on Manfred's frozen, horrorstruck gaze, he reached out, and wiped it on the older man's cravat.

"Fine," he sneered. "But this isn't over, von Karma. Not by a longshot."

  
Dignity was about keeping your head held high no matter what happened, and he did, in spite of the fact that he felt  _disgusting_ , sweaty and unsatisfied-- and repulsed with himself for having succumbed to it-- and having enjoyed parts of it. He longed for a shower, for some time to adjust his hair and feel  _clean_  and in control again. 

He strode from the office, and it was only when he was walking down the corridor, that he noticed the scar on his hand was still visible. He'd forgotten where he'd earned it, but the shape amused him; it looked close to demonic. 

Who'd have thought von Karma was such a suspicious old bastard?

He smirked to himself, silently walking through the building and out into the street. Von Karma may have gotten what he wanted; he might have even thought he'd won for a moment; but from then on, Kristoph knew he had the upper hand.


End file.
